


After the Storm

by tem



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Jyn and Chirrut are BFFs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Running Away, Slow Burn, The Force Ships It, talk of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13629183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tem/pseuds/tem
Summary: After Scarif, Baze and Chirrut must find their way back to each other.





	1. 0 BBY - Scarif

The first thing he felt was the sand, warm and soft underneath his hand. It was familiar, somehow, and he grasped at it, seeking something to which he could anchor himself and the darkness around him. He found nothing, and instead the sand crumbled and shifted through his fingers. He tried to open his eyes, and became aware that they, too, were full of sand. The grains dragged painfully against his eyeballs as he forced his heavy eyelids to open.

His vision was met by the blinding glare of the sand on the sun and the sea, and he immediately snapped his eyes shut again. He could feel the darkness encroaching on him, and it took him before he could even think to fight it.

* * *

 The next thing he was aware of was the sound of blaster-fire in the distance. It was almost mute, muffled through the fog in his mind. He opened his eyes once more, this time not closing them against the brilliant glare as flashes of memory returned to him. He remembered the AT-ACTs, he and Chirrut fleeing them though the jungle as the mechanical beasts lumbered toward them, crushing everything in their path.

He grasped at the sand again, and pushed against the ground, just hard enough to raise his head. An Imperial trooper's boot lay about three feet to Baze's right, the foot still inside. It hadn't been the AT-ACT's that took him down, he remembered. This trooper had a grenade, and Baze had fully expected it to kill him.

But it hadn't. He had expected it to, and had been glad that it would. Why had he been glad to die? Uneasiness settled somewhere in his chest, quickly turning to apprehension and then dread. Mustering his strength, he rolled over onto his back. Pain shot through his arm. Alarmingly, he noted that his left leg didn't move with the rest of his body: it stayed exactly where it had been, and was now draped awkwardly over his right leg, twisted impossibly at the knee. He glanced down the length of his body at it, and saw bones poking through the skin, white in a sea of red. He dropped his head back into the sand.

He could see pinpricks of light in the sky despite the brilliant blue of the day. _Spaceships_ , he thought, blown up during the battle raging above them. The void was encroaching yet again, brought on by the effort of rolling himself over.

 _Not yet_ , he told it. _Not yet_.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the way his ribs creaked and the way the pain shot through them. He turned his head to the left, already knowing what he would find. Chirrut lay about 20 feet away, his body lifeless, his hands still curled on his chest right where Baze had left them. Baze's heart dropped into his stomach and he turned his head away as the darkness settled in again.

 _You can take me_ , he told it as it washed over him. _Please, take me. I need to go where he goes_.

* * *

 He filtered in and out of consciousness, spending most of his waking time staring at Chirrut's supine form. Why hadn't the grenade killed him? It was supposed to. The sound of the battle gradually faded away, either it was moving down the beach or someone was loosing. Baze didn't care which. Not any more. Gradually, he stopped thinking or caring about anything, except the fact that Chirrut was dead and he was not. Then he even stopped caring about that: he was cold, his breath was shallow, and his heart pounded rapidly but weakly in his chest. He suspected the grenade was going to kill him, after all.

* * *

 A woman was standing over him, blocking out the sun. Her fingers were on his throat, just under his jaw. It felt unwelcome, an odd place to touch someone, and Baze tried push her away. He could barely lift his arm off the ground.

“This one's alive, but he's in shock,” the woman said.

 _I'm fine_ , Baze tried to say. _Let me die, it's okay_. What came out of his mouth was a pained groan.

He rolled his head to the left, and saw that several people were gathered around Chirrut's body. As Baze watched, they lifted him and then sat him down on a stretcher.

“No,” Baze managed to croak as they lifted the stretcher up and began to carry it away. He reached his hand out to them, to Chirrut. “No, no, no.”

“Sir,” said the woman, “Sir, it's alright. Calm down, you're going to be okay.”

“No,” he said. He found the strength to push himself onto his elbow, and began grasping at the sand again. They were taking Chirrut to a transport ship down the beach, and Baze began trying, with no success, to crawl towards it.

“Sir, please calm down!” The woman said. She grabbed Baze's shoulder, and he shook her off. She grabbed him again, and with a gentle force rolled him onto his back. He took a swipe at her, but whatever strength he had left him as quickly as it had come, and his hand fell far short of it's mark. It fell on his face, and with what little strength he still had, he began to weep.

The woman patted his uninjured shoulder reassuringly, sympathy in her eyes. He didn't shake her off this time.

“It's going to be ok, Sir. We're going to get you back to Yavin 4, and we're going to fix you. I promise.”

Baze shook his head, still whispering “no” under his breath.

“I'm going to give you a sedative, sir, to make the journey easier for you. You're in a lot of distress, and I want this to be as easy as possible for you. Okay?” Her companions had arrived with a stretcher of his own. He looked down the beach, and saw that the shuttle carrying Chirrut's body had gone. He sighed, defeated.

“This will hurt just for a second,” the woman said. Baze didn't care. “You'll feel nauseous for a second, and then you'll fall asleep. Next thing you know, you'll be back home on Yavin 4.”

Baze ignored her. The woman didn't seem offended by this, and Baze suspected she probably explained what she was doing to anyone she was helping, even if they were unconscious, or dead. He barely felt the needle pierce his skin. A wave on nausea hit him violently, and he groaned. The woman ran a hand over his forehead and into his hair, quietly assuring him he would be okay. He stared blankly at her face as the world around him faded out, and the darkness swept over him once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be nice. I haven't written fan fiction in about 10 years, and have no idea what I'm doing anymore.


	2. 43 BBY - Jedha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying my story so far. Thank you for your kind words. ^_^
> 
> I've decided to add some backstory to the story, because I'm interested in exploring that aspect of their relationship as well. I'll probably alternate chapters between the past and after Scarif. 
> 
> It's probably not canon-compliant, but oh well. Neither is the premise of the story overall.

It would be fair to say that he had been born with a mining-gun in hand. Later on, people would assume he had been born and bred to fight, and while Baze never corrected them on this assumption, it was not the truth. Like many of the rural folk of Jedha who were born outside of the Holy City, his lot in life had been to mine.

Jedha was not an easy place to survive. It's cold, dry climate was unsuitable for most types of farming, but families still needed to make a living. While the Temple claimed ownership of the largest mines and those that produced crystals of the highest quality, smaller mines dotted the landscape. The families who were lucky enough to own the plots of land which contained these mines became the backbone of business on Jedha. There were three areas of industry available to the people of Jedha: religion, the market, and mining. All were important, but mining carried the greatest demand and had the most opportunities for employment, and so it was in the mines that most workers found themselves.

Unfortunately, Kyber was one of the more difficult materials in the galaxy to mine: thanks to Jedha's lack of tectonic activity, the crystals almost never came to the surface on their own, and had to be manually extracted from beneath the ground. Unlike other materials, it was more difficult to mine them using droid technology instead of manually digging them out: the crystals craved contact with living organisms, and were more likely to let themselves be pulled from the ground by such a life-form. Attempts made by an inorganic life-form, such as a droid, meant more trouble and complications than most mine owners were willing to put up with. The crystals were impervious to heat, and nearly unbreakable, and it could be almost impossible for a droid to pull a crystal out of the ground without breaking down or completely destroying the crystal. In those cases, the crystal itself could explode, leading to the destruction and loss of the mine and all the equipment.

For these reasons, the mine owners often hired families to do the back-breaking work in the mines. Officially, there was a ban on child labor in the Republic, but as always, enterprise found ways to circumvent the law.In this case, they claimed that the children worked for their families, not the mine owners or mining companies, and were therefore except from labor laws. Often, anyone who could hold the mining-gun was sent into the mines, no matter how young they may have been.  In return, the mine owners paid the families for any crystals they found, with larger and clearer crystals earning the finder a higher price. The crystals were then sold, sometimes to the Temple itself, but more often to merchants who then processed them and sold the altered or flawed crystals to pilgrims and tourists.

The Malbus family had worked the same mine for seven generations. They lived and worked alongside five other families in a small grouping of huts about half a mile from the mine itself, a small hamlet made up of many generations. The owner, Deme Nasol, made sure that they were provided with shelter, access to water, and basic food rations if their pay was not enough to buy better food. However, they were unable to leave the hamlet without his permission, in case their absence interfered with the mine's production. As a young child, Baze had been fond of the hamlet. He wasn't so fond of the mines, which made him feel uneasy and claustrophobic, but he enjoyed the sense of community the hamlet brought, and always affectionately remembered playing in the streets with his siblings, cousins, and the other children of the settlement.

Much later, Baze would realize that it had been a form of serfdom, archaic and out of line with what the values claimed by the Republic. Despite this, the Republic did nothing to stop the system. Baze doubted that it would have mattered much if they had.

The younger children born into these mining families were often shuffled between hamlets and mines, traded to other families in exchange for money, goods, or social contracts. Baze had the misfortune of being the fifth of the seven children born to his parents. His mother had prided herself on finding good homes for her younger children, and getting something good in exchange. And so, when Baze was ten, he found himself being shipped off to the mine of Jasbru Markal, seven miles to the north-east of his home. He was to become the ward of the Gosra family, one of eight families who worked the mine. Baze's mother had been sure to play up how strong and handsome he was becoming, and what a dedicated, hard worker he was. In exchange, the Gosra family sent one of their daughters for one of his older brothers to marry, and had paid 150 credits to Deme Nasol to make up for the loss of labor.  
  
Baze couldn't help but feel mildly insulted that he was, apparently, worth so little.

But still, he went. He slept in a small room at the back of the Gosra family's hut, ate his meals with them, and worked in the mines alongside them. It was expected that he would probably marry the Gosra's youngest daughter when they both came of age. By her, he would have children, and Baze would love his children and raise them to be hard workers as he was. When the time came, he would trade them off to strangers for money, goods, and alliances, and he would do his best not to feel guilty after. If he was lucky, he would die before he became too old to work in the mines and was cast out to live as a beggar on the streets of one of Jedha's cities. If the Force was merciful to him, he would die a quick death, be buried near the hamlet, and soon forgotten. That was his destiny, just as it had been the destiny of his father, his father's father, and all of his ancestors before him. That, he thought, was the life that the Force had set out for him.

He was wrong, of course. He hadn't anticipated Chirrut.

* * *

Jasbru Markal's mine was larger than Deme Nasol's had been. It extended deeper into the ground, and was more productive. Everywhere he looked, Baze could see veins of Kyber in the rock, glistening in the lamplight.

A week after his arrival, he had been assigned to one of the tunnels off the main shaft. There was a small vein of Kyber there, which Markal hoped he could fully excavate by his shift's end. Baze wasn't sure if that was possible – the vein was thin, but may have been deep – but he knew better than too complain. Instead, he put on his protective gear, turned on his mining-gun and got to work.

Further down the tunnel, a young boy was working. He was probably about Baze's age, or maybe slightly younger, a skinny, twitchy child who seemed incapable of being still. He was humming to himself, a senseless tune that didn't seem to have any particular melody or rhythm or logic to the progression of the notes. Despite this, the boy was tapping his foot as he hummed, and bounced his head along to whatever beat he thought he was creating. Despite this constant movement, Baze noted that the boy's hands were entirely steady as he drilled into the rock.

Baze watched the boy out of the corner of his eye as he worked. After several minutes, the boy suddenly stilled. He turned off his gun, then tilted his head as though he was listening for something. Baze couldn't help but stop and look at him, wondering what on Jedha was wrong with him. As he watched, the boy took about ten steps to his right, tilted his ear towards the stone, and began to lightly run his fingertips over the rock in front of him. His previous twitching was gone, and the look on his face was one of absolute concentration. After a moment, a wide smile spread across the boy's face, and he let out a small shout of triumph. He turned his gun back on, and began to drill where he had touched the stone.

“What are you doing?” Baze couldn't help but ask. The boy turned and grinned at him.

“There's a larger vein of Kyber right here,” he said. “I'm going to mine it, and I'll be rich.”

“How do you know that?”

The wide smile hadn't left the boy's face. “It sings to me,” he said. “Can't you hear it?”

“No.”

“Hm.” The boy shrugged, and then turned back to his work. “It doesn't sing to most people,” he continued. “It does to me, though, and to my Mom and my sisters. We can all hear it.”

“What does it sound like?” Baze couldn't help but ask. The boy was clearly out of his mind, but he found himself curious nonetheless.

In response, the boy hummed, a low, sustained note. Baze figured that was the answer. He nodded slowly, then turned back to his own work. If this kid wanted to play games while working, Baze wasn't going to stop him. That was his business. They worked in silence for a little while, though gradually the boy returned to his previous, alarmingly animated state. Baze did his best to ignore it.

“You,” the boy said suddenly, “should lighten up a little.” He wasn't looking at Baze, but it was clear he was talking to him. “You won't have any friends if you're so grumpy and boring all the time.”

“I am not grumpy and boring,” said Baze, insulted.

“Yes you are.”

“How can you do that and not drop the gun? My father always said -"

“Blah, blah. My father always said boring things, too. I think that's what they do, say boring things. It's required. But you're not my father, or your father, or anyone's father. Are you?”

“No?"

"So don't act like one."

Baze shook his head and turned back to his work. The boy laughed quietly, but didn't say anything else. After a few minutes, the boy made another sound of victory.

“See?” He said, sounding satisfied. He motioned Baze over. Baze looked at his own vein, knowing that the boy was costing him precious time and therefore money, but his curiosity got the better of him. He sat down his gun and walked over to see what the boy had found.

There, glistening through the hole the boy had drilled, was the glimmer of clear Kyber. Baze stood in shock.

“That was a foot deep,” he said. “How did you know that would be there?”

“I already told you,” the boy said, but there was no meanness in his words. Instead, he just grinned up at Baze, then stuck out his hand.

“I'm Chirrut Imwe.”

“Baze Malbus,” he said, shaking his hand.

"Would you like to come over to my house for dinner? Mom always makes too much food since Dad died.”

“I thought you said I was boring.”

“You are. But we can't let all that food go to waste.” He shook his head dramatically at the horror of the thought.

Baze couldn't help but smile back. He nodded. “Okay.”

The rest of the shift was spent mostly in silence, or trading small-talk as they worked. It quickly became apparent that Chirrut was the kind of boy that Baze's mother had always warned him to stay away from, the kind who thrived on trouble, and who would create it if it didn't come to him fast enough. Despite this, despite is inability to keep still, and despite his belief that he could hear rocks singing to him, Baze quickly grew to like him. He hadn't known that someone like Chirrut could exist in the world.

* * *

They quickly became inseparable, often working together and spending their free time together when they had it. Chirrut's incessant chatter made the work less tedious, and made the shift go by quicker.  
  
"Have you ever hurt yourself doing that?" Baze asked one day as Chirrut tapped his foot around.  
  
"I broke my arm once, in two places."

"Really?"

"Mom was really mad. She _had_ told me to stay out of those places."

Baze stood dumbfounded for a moment, then let out a loud burst of laughter. Chirrut's returning grin was unusually timid, and Baze had a feeling that nobody had ever really laughed at Chirrut's jokes before.

* * *

Chirrut told Baze many more awful jokes, and Baze laughed at every one. Chirrut acted like it annoyed him, and he said that one day he would find a joke so horrible, that even Baze wouldn't laugh at it. Still, Baze never missed the smile Chirrut tried to hide, or how pleased he looked whenever Baze laughed.  
  
Sometimes they would sneak out of the hamlet during the middle of the night. They would climb to the top of the mesa and look at the stars, looking for spaceships passing them far above. The one who counted the most ships would win, and would have bragging rights about it until the next time they sneaked out.  
  
And when they worked, Chirrut would always show off his ability to find Kyber. He was never wrong, and continued to insist that he could hear the Kyber singing to him. Baze, however, came to a different conclusion. After the third time Chirrut had found a Kyber vein, Baze couldn't help but think that maybe Chirrut was magic.


	3. 0 BBY - Scarif

It wasn't every day that a man got to witness his own death.

Chirrut felt a great shaking deep inside his own bones. It quickly spread through every cell in his body, from his bones to all of his organs, to his skin, to the base of his skull, to the tip of every finger and every toe. Despite all of his meditations on the Force, on life and death, on the nature of the universe, nothing had told Chirrut what dying would actually feel like, and he hadn't prepared for  _this._ The intensity grew and grew, until every atom of Chirrut was vibrating with energy and he was helpless to stop it. Desperate, he grasped for Baze, only to find that Baze had gone. 

The shaking stopped abruptly, and  Chirrut realized that his soul had been thrown from his body. The terrible shaking done, a sense of peace settled over him. Breath no longer entered his lungs and he could no longer feel his heart beating in his chest. The thought didn't bother him like it should.

He opened his eyes, and saw the Force curling around him. It was mostly blue, he was surprised it find. He hadn't been able to see anything since he was twelve, and while his faith in the Force had been complete, what it looked like had never struck him as important. He had come to the conclusion that it was probably colorless, like air or water, reflecting and amplifying the light, color and energy of the items in and around it. The reality, he found, was breathtaking. It was brilliant, full of colors entwined within the blue matrix, ever changing and constantly moving. There were colors he was sure did not exist in life, and it ran in rivers of brilliant light down the beach, pulsating and quivering with energy around the trees, around the soldiers on both sides, around the grass and the insects and everything else that was living. It even radiated from non-living things, such as rocks, droids, or individual grains of sand, with a slow and steady pulse, not the frantic, quivering pulse of life.

He looked down at his hands, and saw it radiating out of himself, swirling between his fingertips. It was beautiful, and Chirrut could not help the fantastic feeling of joy that spread through him: the first thing he had seen in forty years had been the Force. 

He felt his heart suddenly beat in his chest, weak but unmistakable, and he realized that he was not, in fact, entirely dead. Glancing down, he noticed a thin thread of the Force, pale gold in color, connected to his sternum. He followed its path with his eyes and saw that it was connected to the sternum of his corpse. His heart beat again, and the thread quivered slightly as the beat of the vibration traveled from his body to his soul.

Chirrut scrambled to his knees and leaned over his almost-corpse, examining it closely. Although it was solid, he could see through it: he could see the Force weakly flowing through his veins with his blood with each weak beat of his heart. He could see the individual cells of his body working to keep him alive. He could see his brain, his spinal cord, the nerves in his body; his organs, slowly ceasing their functions, his lungs beginning to fill with fluid.

“Fascinating,” he whispered to himself.

Chirrut had known the instant that Rogue One landed on Scarif that none of them would be leaving. He had felt it in the Force, and had accepted it. When he had seen the switch, he knew that it was his time. He had what he needed to do, though it pained him to leave Baze shouting behind him. The Force had protected him, had guided him to the switch and when he had done that, he knew his time was done. As his last act, he had turned back to smile at Baze, letting him know it was okay, they had played their part, and now they would rest.   
  
Looking into his body, Chirrut could see that the blast had done extensive damage. His rib cage was shattered, as was his righ hip. His shattered bones had pierced his liver, his spleen, his upper intestine, and his left lung. Chirrut was surprised that his body was still holding on. He should have died instantly.

His examination completed, he turned his attention to Baze, who had been taken out by a blast of his own. He approached Baze's unconscious form, and gave his injuries a once over. His leg was badly broken, and the left side of his torso was covered in burns. Despite this, his organs were undamaged, and he would survive his wounds. Satisfied with his analysis of Baze's injuries, Chirrut turned his attention to Baze's face. It was the first time he had actually seen Baze's face since they were children. In the years since, he had lost count of how many times he had run his hands over that same face, logging in his mind how Baze was aging and changing, gently mapping the folds of the wrinkles under his eyes, the way Baze's mouth curved when he smiled, or how his brow furrowed in frustration when Chirrut was being difficult. Chirrut reached out a hand and traced his fingertips across every landmark on his face. He could see Baze clearly now, but this was the way that Chirrut had come to know him, the way he had come to love him, and it was the way he wanted to say goodbye.

Baze's spirit was not shaking, and his heart still beat in his chest. Life, it seemed, did not seem ready to let Baze go. For the first time since his death, Chirrut felt something other than peace, as an uncomfortable heaviness settled in his stomach.

“I can't blame life for that,” he said. “I don't want to let you go, either, but it seems I have too. Live well, my love, for me.” His hand lingered on Baze's cheek for a moment, gently stroking over the bone there. Reluctantly, he stood and turned away, just as Baze was blinking back into consciousness.

Chirrut walked back over to his own body, and looked back down at it, and at the cord that still connected him to it. He closed his eyes, and tried to push Baze out of his mind: his laughter at Chirrut's stupid jokes, the surprising softness of his calloused fingers and his lips against Chirrut's skin, how he always gave back as good as he got. Chirrut let these memories of his life with Baze flow over him for just a moment, heavy and beautiful, before he forced them out of his mind. Opening his eyes, Chirrut grabbed the golden cord and gave it a good, hard tug.

The cord didn't budge. He glanced back at Baze, who had woken up enough to turn himself over before passing out again. Chirrut pulled at the cord again, and again it didn't budge. He frowned.

“You have to chose,” a voice said. Chirrut turned to find his mother standing next to him, looking young and healthier than Chirrut could ever remember her being. He wasn't surprised to find her here. After all, Devkyra Imwe was always the most pious woman that Chirrut ever knew.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“The Force. You're resisting it, and it can tell. Why are you resisting it? Isn't being one with the Force what you've always wanted?”

Chirrut paused in thought. “I am one with the Force,” he said. “Because the Force is one with me.”

His mother looked at him carefully. “Your heart still beats. Where will you follow it?”

Chirrut looked back at Baze, who was barely awake. His hand was outstretched towards Chirrut's corpse. Chirrut glanced down at his own fingers, and the energy of the Force swirling between them. He examined his hands for a long moment, then looked back at Devkyra.

“I don't understand,” he said. “I was so sure that I was supposed to die.”

“The living should never be sure of anything."

"No, I suppose not." Chirrut took a moment to look at the world around him, and not just at the Force that flowed through it all. Above him, he could see the pinpricks of light in the sky. The rebels had broken through the barrier, and he could see the streams of data that was now being broadcast from the Tower into the atmosphere. He could sense Jyn and Cassian coming down the Tower, and the peace and acceptance that had descended over them. Like him, they were certain in their deaths, the most important moment of their lives completed. Chirrut looked down the beach, the broken, smouldering ruins of the AT-ACTs and contrasting almost painfully with the lush greenery of the plant life around them.   
  
Finally, he turned his attention to the sea. Chirrut had never seen the sea before: Jedha had no oceans, after all, and he had gone blind before ever going off-world. He sat down in the sand next to his body, staring out at the ocean in front of him. It wasn't fair, he thought, that the Force was asking this of him. If he died, he would become one with all of these beautiful things.

But that would mean leaving Baze behind.

He pulled again at the cord, and again it didn't budge. He looked at the Force, watching the fluid motion of life and death around him. The battle was growing quieter as Rebellion ships landed, joining the battle and looking for the wounded and the dead. Shuttles landed nearby, soldiers and medics spewing from their holds. Within seconds, they had surrounded the bodies of both himself and Baze. Chirrut watched as Baze reached for his body, weakly begging them not to take it away from him.

“I want him to be happy, Mom,” he said. “I want him to live, and thrive. Do you think he can do that, without me?”

“I think you know the answer already.”

Chirrut nodded. He took one last look at the ocean, at the sky, at the ebb and flow of life and death and the Force around him.

“Then I shall live, for him.”

He felt a tug as his spirit was snapped violently back into his unconscious body. He didn't wake up again for a long time.


	4. Jedha - 40 BBY

Years later, Chirrut would tell all kinds of stories about how he lost his sight. Some of his stories were plausible (he lost it after one of the other kids pushed him and he hit his head on a table), while others were outlandish (once he fell down a mineshaft and met a magical underground creature who took his sight in return for sending him back to the surface). His favorite was that a Kyber crystal had exploded in his hands, causing the Force to flow through him with great power, stealing his eyesight but giving him the ability to see into the future. Never far from Chirrut's side, Baze would roll his eyes whenever Chirrut got to tell these tales.  
  
“There is truth in what I say,” Chirrut would tell him.  
  
“Oh? I must have forgotten the time you were taken captive by Hutt slave-traders, fought a Yashak for your freedom, was blinded when it spat venom in your eyes, and then killed it by following the will of the Force.”  
  
“You were guiding the pilgrims from Dathka that week.”  
  
“I was there when you went blind, Chirrut.”

“Were you? I didn't see you anywhere.”  
  
Chirrut would then laugh to himself while Baze would shake his head in long-suffering disbelief.

* * *

The reality was much more mundane, and much more tragic.

Chirrut had worked the morning shift in the mines, and was anxiously awaiting Baze to finish his shift. Chirrut had been feeling anxious and nauseous all morning. He had started feeling this way around Baze sometimes, whenever Baze would smile back at him or throw a companionable arm around his shoulder, or even sometimes when Baze didn't do anything at all. Sometimes it would happen when he just happened to look in Baze's direction, catching a glimpse of his profile, or even when he just thought of Baze. He thought of Baze a lot, more than he thought of almost anything.  
  
He didn't know why it happened. He had even asked his mother about it once. Devkyra had simply smiled at him and said “that just means you like him.” Chirrut had been confused. Of _course_ he liked Baze. Everyone knew he liked Baze, and Devkyra liked Baze too, because _everyone_ liked Baze.

Today the nausea was worse than it usually was, and he figured its because he was going to give Baze a present, to show him what a great friend Chirrut thought he was. It was a small wooden bird that Chirrut had carved out of a block of snow wood. Snow wood was rare, a lightweight, white wood that came from the snow tree in the Jedhan deserts. It was a fascinating plant that spent most of its life underground, but burst through to the surface whenever snow fell on the planet. After, the exposed part of the plant would whither and die, leaving the brilliant wood behind. Despite the cold, snow wasn't common on Jedha for most of the year, and Chirrut had to actually save up a months worth of wages just to buy the wood from a passing trader.  
  
Chirrut loved carving. His father had taught him how to whittle as soon as he was able to hold a stick and a carving knife. Chirrut, on the occasions when he felt more introspective, would go to his little room in the hut he shared with his mother and sisters, and carve all kinds of little figurines and tools. He found it to be a calming, focusing activity, a nice break from all the restless energy he naturally felt. Chirrut sometimes dreamed of leaving the mines, of taking his mother and sisters and Baze with him, and settling in one of the cities instead. There, he would open a shop where he sold his carvings, and he would become renowned for his artistry and skill. He liked to imagine his mother and sisters dressed in nice gowns, all of them happy and healthy, and free from the stresses that living in the mines brought them. 

Chirrut swallowed and looked at the little bird in his hand, trying to ignore the nausea and anxiety bubbling inside his chest.

“Baze!” He shouted when he saw the other boy coming up the path towards him. Chirrut ran up to him, and held the bird out to him. “I made this for you.”

Baze took the bird from his hand and looked it over. “You made me a bird?” He asked. “Why?”

“I don't know, I just thought you might like it.”

Baze looked confused, and Chirrut could feel his heart sinking, the nausea rising. _He doesn't like it,_ he thought.

“Are you sure?” Baze said. “What about one of your sisters, birds are a more girly thing - “

“If you don't like it, I'll just take it back.” Chirrut reached his hand out to grab the figurine.  
  
“No!” Baze said, snatching his hand away. He smiled at Chirrut. “I like it. It's really nice, thank you.”

Baze put the bird in his bag, and then lightly grabbed Chirrut's arm as they walked down the road. The relief Chirrut felt at Baze accepting the gift had not been strong enough to quell his nausea. It was growing, and his breath was starting to get short.   
  
“Baze, wait,” he said, stopping, “wait, I -”  
  
“Chirrut? Are you okay?”  
  
Chirrut grasped for him as his vision went blurry and he collapsed on the ground.

* * *

Baze had run shouting for help as soon as Chirrut had collapsed, and Chirrut had spent the next two days in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. Chirrut remembered little of the disease that took his sight. He remembered his sisters and mother keeping vigil by his bedside, of them holding spoonfuls of soup up to him to encourage him to eat, and of him throwing up whatever was given to him. He remembered Baze sitting on the chair next to the bed, looking at the little white bird, turning it over in his hands with a forlorn look on his face. He remembered his whole body hurting, and a sharp pain behind his eyes. He remembered his vision starting to fade, slowly, starting from the periphery.

On the third day, the doctor from Dathka had arrived to check on him. He took one look at Chirrut and immediately declared that Chirrut must return to the city with him for treatment, or else he would die within the week. And so, Chirrut was swiftly whisked away to the city, and put into a bacta tank to keep the infection at bay while Doctor Darric treated him.

He would later learn that the virus that had caused this was not rare, and was experienced in a milder form by almost everyone on Jedha at some point in their lives or another. Chirrut, however, had experienced an extreme reaction to it, and while most people simply had nausea and widespread pain, the illness had begun to attack and break down certain structures within his body. For most of his organs, the inflammation caused by his immune system had been enough to protect them from this breakdown, but the virus had managed to attack his optic nerves and the structures within his eyes.  
  
He could still see, a little. His entire periphery was gone, and what was left was blurred, but he could make out shapes and colors. Darric told him it wouldn't last, and that as an ongoing side-effect of the illness, his optic nerve would continue to degenerate. Eventually, sometime in the next five years, he would be completely blind. There were medical procedures that could fix it, of course, but they were expensive. There was no way Chirrut's family would be able to afford them.

* * *

His nights at home had been peaceful. He would carve a little, listening to Devkyra's chants of “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me” through the thin walls of the hut, a mantra as familiar to Chirrut as his own heartbeat. Often before he slept, she would pray with him, or tell him stories. Devkyra had told him all the tales of the Old Republic, of the Jedi and the Sith, why the Kyber were special and how the Jedi used them in their lightsabers. She told him of the Kyber Temple in the Holy City, a great pyramid reaching into the sky. She had made the pilgrimage there as a young woman, before she married, before the Force had given her children.

“How the Kyber sings!” she had told him. “It is the most beautiful song. They sing here because they want us to find them. They sing there because they are content, they are protected by the Guardians, and they know they are safe from all harm. It is the most joyous, most beautiful song, and you can hear it from all over the Holy City.”

More than anything, Chirrut hoped to one day see the Temple for himself, and to hear this joyous, beautiful song. He wouldn't be able to do that now, he thought as he lay in his hospital bed, and the realization crushed him.

* * *

Devkyra was weeping when she came to visit him. She held him tightly, kissed his forehead and brushed his hair back from his head.  
  
“I love you, Chirrut,” she said. “Please, please, don't ever forget that. No matter what happens.”  
  
“I won't, Mom.”

She was shaking, her voice thin and hesitant.  
  
“Mr. Markal is a cruel man,” she said after a moment. “He – he won't let you come back to the mines with me.”

“Because I'm blind?”

“Yes. Because you're blind.” She sounded sad and tired. He could still see the general shape and features of her face, the pale color of her skin and her dark eyes.  
  
“I can still see you,” he said.

She smiled slightly. “I'm glad,” she said, and grabbed his hand. She raised it to her face and let him run his fingers over her tear-stained cheeks. “I am so, so glad that the Force gave you to me.” She grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the face, and although he couldn't see clearly, he could tell the expression on her face was serious.

“I have absolute faith in you, Chirrut,” she said. “I want you to go to NiJedha. Doctor Darrec will help you. When you're there, find the Disciples of the Whills, and they will help you until I can join you.”

“Why can't you come now?”  
  
Devkyra hesitated. “Mr. Markal has threatened to hurt Elari,” she said, carefully. “I have to do what I can to make sure all of my children are safe. But I _promise_ you I will find you. When your sisters are safe, I _will_ find you.”

She reached behind her to undo the Starbird necklace she always wore around her neck, and placed it in his palm, curling his fingers around it. “The Force is always with you, Chirrut. It will always guide you, if you listen to it. You will never be alone as long as the Force is by your side.”  
  
“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” he murmured. She repeated the mantra in confirmation, and then pulled him in for a tight hug. Chirrut clung to her, trying to hold back the tears that filled his eyes.

* * *

Darric had agreed to take Chirrut as far as the town of Kufu, twenty miles south, as he was already scheduled to deliver medical supplies there. Devkyra had given Chirrut 100 credits, which would get him the rest of the way to the Holy City.

Chirrut was all settled into the supply wagon, clutching the bag of his possessions that Devkyra had brought with her tightly to his chest, when he heard the sand shuffling as someone ran towards them.  
  
“Wait!” Baze called. Chirrut sat up and poked his head out.

“Baze!” He shouted, feeling happier than he had in weeks. “What are you doing?”

“I'm coming with you,” Baze said.

“Oh, no” Darric shook his head. “Who are you? Why do you think you're going anywhere?”

“I'm Baze,” he said. “I'm his best friend, and I'm going with you, whether you like it or not.”

“I don't have any room,” Darric said. “I barely have room for _him._ ”

“Here,” Baze pulled a small wad of credits out of his pocket, and pushed some into Darric's hand. Darric sighed, and nodded. Without hesitation, Baze clambered into the wagon beside Chirrut, who immediately threw his arms around him in a hug.

“What are you _doing_?” Chirrut whispered.

“You're my friend,” Baze said, “but you're also an idiot and can barely see. Someone has to keep you from walking into walls.”  
  
Chirrut couldn't help but laugh, and again his eyes were filling up with tears, though this time it was out of joy instead of sorrow. “I can still see walls,” he said. “And what about the mine?”  
  
“What about it? I hated it there. You were the only thing that kept me sane there. If I stay, they'll make me marry Sandi Gorsa. I don't _want_ to marry Sandi Gorsa.”

Sandi Gorsa was a nice enough girl, Chirrut thought, but boring. Hardly a good match for Baze, who needed someone a little more exciting in his life.  “Good idea,” Chirrut said. “If you married her, the world would explode from your combined boringness.”  
  
Baze punched him in the arm, but laughed. Chirrut couldn't help but lean into him a little as the wagon began to move, glad that he had both the Force and Baze to keep him company in this weird, scary new part of his life. The Force would never abandon him, and neither, he felt, would Baze.

 

 


	5. 0 BBY - Kamino

He heard the rain spattering on the hull of the ship, and a violent wind every once in a while whistling through the wings. Baze lay quietly on his bed for a few moments, listening to the rain as he came to his senses. His body ached all over, and his mind was clouded by a heavy fog. He moved his hand and felt a slight tug: an IV had been inserted in a vein on the back of his hand, and slowly Baze began to put things together.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, and surveyed the room. It was a small hospital ward, with four beds. Two of the other beds were inhabited, the third empty. Both men were hooked up to IV's as well, one was unconscious and the other was staring at the ceiling blankly. _Shell-shocked_ , Baze thought.  
  
Baze's torso was bandaged up tight, and the parts not covered by bandages were covered instead by ugly purple bruises. He shed the blankets back. His left leg was gone below the knee.

He sighed and flopped onto his back, again becoming aware of the rain. His leg was gone, Chirrut was gone, NiJedha and the Temple of the Kyber were gone. Everything Baze had ever valued in his life was gone, but he still remained.  
  
_Go figure,_ he thought as he let out a quick, disbelieving laugh and ran his hands over his face. The laugh quickly became a groan, and Baze couldn't help but wonder why the Universe was playing this twisted joke on him.

* * *

It wasn't long before the woman from the beach came to check on him. She gave him a big smile when she saw that he was awake. Baze didn't return it.

“Baze Malbus,” she said, pulling the curtain closed and sitting on a chair next to his bed. “I am so glad that you're awake.”

Baze grunted in response. The initial shock from realizing his leg was gone had worn off, and with it his instinctive anger at having been rescued. The woman had just done what she was supposed to do, and Baze could respect that.

“My name is Jasari Meynor, I'm a medic for the Rebellion. I found you on the beach at Scarif.”

“I remember.” He said.

“I'm glad. I wasn't sure that you would.”

He grunted again.

“You were in pretty bad shape. I apologize for the primitive treatment -“ she waved at the IV and the bandages covering his side. “- unfortunately, this little ship of ours isn't equipped with a bacta tank. Or anything else _not_ from the stone age.” She muttered this last bit under her breath.

“My leg's gone.”

“Yes. You had a _very_ bad infection, and we couldn't get rid of it. We didn't have a choice, we had to cut the leg off to save your life.”

He nodded. Again, he wished she hadn't of bothered, but again reminded himself that she had done what she needed to do.

“We'll give you a prosthesis, of course," Jasari said. "We treated most of the burns you received, but we've got a nice layer of bacta under those bandages there just to make sure they heal right.” She examined him critically, noting his lack of reaction. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”

Baze shook his head. “No,” he said. “I just...” he shook his head.

She nodded, and Baze turned to look at her clearly for the first time. She was on the short side, with a rounded face, blue eyes, and short red hair. It was a good face, Baze decided.

“How far are we from Yavin 4?” He asked.

“We had to take a detour,” she said. “We were spotted by a couple of Imperial scouts. We're laying low until we know they're gone. We're on a small water planet called Kamino. It played a big role in the Clone Wars, but it's been abandoned since the fall of the Republic."

“How long have we been here?” Baze noticed how hoarse his voice was and swallowed hard. Jasari noticed this and handed him the cup of water next to his bed.

“Two standard days so far,” she said. “We want to be sure the scouts are gone before we leave, we can't risk leading them back to the base.”

Baze ran his hand over his eyes. Chirrut had been dead for at least two days, possibly more as Baze had no idea how long he had been out. His brain was having trouble processing that information.

“What do you do with the dead?” he asked Jasari as she took the cup back from him.

“They're usually cremated as soon as possible, unless they've requested otherwise.”

Her answer briefly set Baze somewhat at ease, knowing that Chirrut's body likely wasn't being kept on ice in some medical vault somewhere. His body was as it should be, reduced to it's base components, his atoms scattered among the stars.

"I should have been there to light the pyre for him," Baze said quietly. He should have been able to wash and anoint Chirrut's body, to build his pyre, and to light it. Caring for your loved ones in their death and releasing them into the Universe was one of the last great acts of love and intimacy that a person could perform. Instead, someone Chirrut had never even met had likely lit his pyre, and the thought made Baze feel hollow.

Jasari was still looking at him, her eyes soft but not pitying. “Would you like to tell me about him?” she asked. “The other man on the beach?”

Baze wanted to tell her that no, he did not want to talk about Chirrut, or Scarif, or anything else. He wanted to go to sleep and not think about any of those things ever again. Instead, he nodded slightly and opened his mouth.

“His name was Chirrut,” he said. “He was a fool, and I should have died with him.”

“How long did you know him?”

“Forty years, give or take. We meet when we were ten.”

Jasari's eyes widened slightly in surprise at this. She was probably used to dealing with soldiers who met their lost friends fighting the Rebellion. Bonds were formed quickly in war, and their loss felt just as intensely as those who had lost someone they had known their whole life.

“He must have met a great deal to you,” she said.

Baze laughed bitterly. “No, no,” he said. “He meant everything.”

Understanding flashed behind her eyes and she bowed her head. After a moment, she gave him another smile and calmly reached for his wrist.

“Thank you,” she said, and it took Baze a second to realize she was thanking him for talking about Chirrut. “I'm going to check your vitals real quick and make sure you're recovering.”

Baze scoffed, but Jasari shushed him and lightly patted his shoulder. She pulled a scanner out of her med-kit, then for good measure decided to poke and prod at a few of his wounds.

“Your vitals are good,” she said when she was finished, “and your wounds are healing. I was sure you were going to die when we found you.”

Baze didn't say anything, and Jasari lightly grabbed his hand. She looked at him seriously.

“I know you're not feeling great right now. You miss your partner and you're in pain. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're alive.”

“You don't even know me.”

“Does it matter? You're in the rebellion, and that means you're my brother.”

She let go of his hand and got to her feet. “I need to check on the others,” she said. “Yell at me if you need anything, and if not, I'll be back in a few hours, to make sure you're doing alright. I'd like to hear more about Chirrut when I come back, if you'd like to talk.”

Baze nodded silently as Jasari took her leave of him. Baze tuned her out as she went about her business, checking on the other men in the small ward. He listened again to the wind and the rain, before doing something he had not done in almost twenty-years: he meditated on the Force.

* * *

Meditation had once been an important part of Baze's life. Even after he had lost his faith, he still meditated regularly, partly because it kept him grounded and partly because Chirrut had insisted on it. He thought briefly about how he and Chirrut would sometimes spend their evenings, facing each other on the floor of the little room they shared, their legs crossed and their hands resting on their knees as they went through their ruminations. Chirrut always seemed to sense whenever Baze's thoughts began to wander, and would gently reach out and touch his arm with his hand, bringing Baze back to the present and grounding him. After their meditations were done, they would crawl into bed together, Chirrut wrapping himself around Baze, and Baze lacing his fingers with Chirrut's and holding his hand over his heart. Some of their nights were devoted to their playful banter, or to passion, but the nights of meditation were always quiet, and introspective. Baze valued those nights, when he would simply enjoy Chirrut's presence in his life, and the fact that although Baze had lost his faith and they both had lost the Temple, they still had each other, and that they had been able to make a life together.

They never meditated on the same things. Chirrut, Baze suspected, always meditated on the Force, but Baze meditated on many subjects. He meditated on Chirrut, on his work, on his childhood, on any issue that seemed important to him at the time, in hopes that he could understand it. Chirrut had faith, and accepted things the way they were. Baze admired that, but he always wanted to know the why of things. This curiosity and need for understanding had been both the basis of his faith and the cause of it's eventual loss.

And so he lay there on his hospital bed, the sound of the rain hitting the ship luring him into his meditative state. He tried to step away from his feelings of loss and hopelessness, hoping to understand why he had survived when Chirrut had not. The answer he came up with was the same as it was whenever he meditated on other atrocities: the Force, if it existed, did not care. It was impartial.  
  
He tried approaching it from another angle. Chanting Chirrut's mantra on the beach as he shot through the stormtroopers, he had briefly believed in the Force again. He believed fully in that moment that he would die, and that he would find Chirrut in the Force. He hadn't died, but that didn't mean that he couldn't find Chirrut again. He recalled what he had felt in that moment after Chirrut's death, his certainty that they would find each other, and held on to it. He focused on that feeling, on Chirrut's final words, and let it grow within him.

In his mind, he wove that feeling into a net, and cast it out into the Force, seeking.

 _Chirrut,_ he said, _let me know if you are out there. I miss you._

There was silence, but Baze held onto the net as long as he could. Slowly, he let the net go, and the sound of rain brought him back into the present.

* * *

Baze's meditation had left him feeling a little less despondent, and that was enough for now. He was disheartened but not surprised that there had been no response, but despite this he felt oddly hopeful. Part of his mind told him it was a fool's hope, and the other part told him to just accept it. He decided to accept it, for now, even if the feeling of fool's hope nagged at the back of his mind.

There was a knock on the ward door, and Jasari, who had been tending to the shell-shocked patient went over to it. She spoke briefly to whoever was on the other side and then stepped over to Baze.  
  
“You have a visitor. Is it alright if I let him in?”

Baze nodded and she went back. Bodhi entered through the door and Jasari went back to her work. Bodhi had a cane in hand, and hobbled over to Baze's bedside without putting too much weight on his right leg.

“Wow," he said, openly gaping at Baze's wounds. He immediately caught himself and looked horrified that he had been so rude. "Sorry. I'm glad you're alive."

“But you're surprised,” Baze said. “Me too. What happened to you?”

“I got through to the Rebellion,” Bodhi said, “and right afterwards, a trooper threw a grenade in the ship. It was a dud, thankfully,” Bodhi trailed off, no doubt imaging the horror of what could have happened if the grenade had gone off.

“So you were injured by an unexploded grenade?”

“What? Oh,” Bodhi looked down at his leg. “I tried to run away and got shot.”

Baze couldn't help but smile a little at him. He hadn't trusted the kid at first, but felt that he had more than proven himself, and was glad he would be alright. He wondered about Jyn and Cassian, and even Cassian's pet droid. Had they had escaped or did they, like Chirrut, become martyrs of the Rebellion?

“What about the others,” Baze asked. “Are they here?”

Bodhi shook his head. “I don't know where they are. I hope they made it out.” He looked around at the other occupants of the ward, and then back at Baze, his wide eyes asking the question that he didn't want to ask Baze out loud.  
  
Baze shook his head. “He's gone,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” Bodhi said quietly. He twitched slightly, like he wanted to say more, but wasn't sure what to say.

“Thank you,” Baze said. Bodhi didn't say anything else, just sat in his chair staring at his feet. Jasari had finished with her patient and gave Baze and Bodhi a small smile as she left the room, giving them some privacy.  
  
“I want to say thank you,” Bodhi said after a moment, “for flipping the switch. For making sure I was able to get through.”

“That was Chirrut,” Baze said.  
  
“I thank him, then. I'm sure the Rebellion will honor him, when we get back.”

“Maybe. He would like that, but he'd be mad he missed it.”

Bodhi smiled slightly, his eyes sad. Baze wondered briefly if the boy had ever been happy in his life, or if he was born looking miserable.

“You did well, little brother,” he said. “We all did what we needed to do. Chirrut - Chirrut did what he needed to do. We did well.” Baze tried to ignore the way his voice cracked, and was grateful when Bodhi politely did not mention it.


	6. 40 - 39 BBY - Jedha

They made it to NiJedha without incident. An exile and a runaway, they had spent their first night away from the mines laying low in Kufu's only inn, waiting eagerly and apprehensively for the daylight and the pilgrim transport shuttle that would take them away. The room was small, the bed rickety and uncomfortable, and the blankets inadequate against the cold of Jedha's nights. Baze could feel Chirrut shivering next to him, and without thinking about it, Baze turned and gathered the smaller boy to him. Gradually, Chirrut relaxed, warmed and hopefully comforted by the reminder that Baze was there, and that he wasn't going to leave him.

Baze spent most of the night staring at the wall, his fear of being caught and dragged back to the mines gradually growing until it threatened to suffocate him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself.  
  
_I have no fear, for all will be as the Force wills it_. He repeated the mantra silently in his head, until the anxiety began to subside. He thought he knew what the Force had planned for him, but he had willingly thrown it all away without a second thought. He couldn't know what the Force had planned for him, but he had to trust that it would deliver him safely. He had to believe this, for his sake and for Chirrut's.  
  
In the morning, they passed a man, passed out drunk next to the inn. Baze helped Chirrut step around the man, and then stole his blaster. If anyone wanted to take him back to the mines, they were going to have to fight him.

* * *

The pyramid of the Kyber Temple could be seen three hours before they arrived in the city, first as a small speck on the horizon, then gradually growing larger as the transport vessel came closer. It was daunting and beautiful, and Baze's fear and trepidation receded as they came closer and closer. His fear was entirely gone by the time the shuttle began to ascend the mesa, replaced by awe and excitement.  
  
"We made it," he said in disbelief.  
  
The shuttle dropped them and the pilgrims off, and Baze took Chirrut's hand.  
  
"I wish you could hear it, Baze," Chirrut said, his voice full of wonder. "I thought the crystals in the mines were beautiful, but this...this is the most beautiful song in the galaxy. It must be."  
  
Fondness overcame Baze, and he squeezed his friend's hand. He had long since accepted that Chirrut had an unusual connection to the rocks they had mined, a connection that Baze couldn't fully explain or understand, but which he had seen more than enough evidence of over the years.   
  
"I wish I could, too," he said. "Come on." He began to lead Chirrut through the crowded streets.

* * *

The Disciples of the Whills ran a sanctuary on the south side of the Holy City, and took in a wide variety of people seeking help and shelter: orphans, the elderly and infirm, teenage mothers, the homeless, runaways, and those who, like Baze and Chirrut, had fled the mines. Anyone who had been cast out or turned away was welcome within its sandstone walls.

The Sanctuary was run by a Disciple named Amyama Idecot. Baze was unsure what species she was because she always hid her face behind a long red veil, so that only her gleaming, violet eyes were visible. She was very tall and thin, with long, bony hands that were ashen in color. She spoke with a soft, steady, almost harmonic voice, which Baze managed to find both calming and uncanny. Regardless, she had seemed genuinely glad to accept them into the Sanctuary, and pleased that they had come to her.

“You are not the first refugees from the mines,” she said, “and you will not be the last. I hope that you will find here the home you have lost, for here you will never be without food, shelter, love, or purpose. You will always be safe and welcome, and the Mine Lords will not find you here. This is my promise to you."  
  
The Sanctuary was a decently sized complex, slightly overcrowded, but manageably so. Baze and Chirrut were assigned to a room where they bunked with two other young runaways; a small room, but one with comfortable beds and a window. Amyama took the time to speak to them as she did to all those under her care, to learn their histories, their skills, and their interests. She gave them chores and tasks to keep them busy and to build their skills and character, and listened to any concerns and conflicts that arose. Baze was surprised to discover that he enjoyed cooking, and requested to be put on meal duty when possible. Chirrut preferred to work inside the shrine, managing the offerings and keeping the site clean.

Chirrut seemed to deal with his circumstances by turning to humor, cracking jokes and playing off his disability as though it wasn't a big deal. Baze sometimes wondered if he was more upset about what had happened than Chirrut was, but the amount of time Chirrut spent in the shrine praying told him that Chirrut wasn't adapting as easily as he pretended he was. Baze could understand it: he had refused to cry when his mother had sent him to live with the Gorsa family. His siblings hadn't cried when they had been sent away, and he wasn't going to be the first. Instead, he stoically left them, and over time the sadness he felt at the separation had slowly turned to anger: anger at his parents for selling him like a slave, anger at the rural mining system for allowing such things to happen, and anger at himself for accepting it.

He didn't want Chirrut to become angry like he was. Chirrut was the bright spot in his life in the mines: he was good, and kind; an optimist, even in the face of disability and loss. It would break Baze's heart if Chirrut had ever lost those traits, so he did what he could to be supportive, but not pitying. He played along with Chirrut's jokes, and was quick to offer his help when he thought it was needed. At first, Chirrut usually refused his offers of help, and Baze respected this. He would step back, but would always be nearby in case Chirrut changed his mind, or messed up so catastrophically that refusing help wouldn't be an option. As time passed, Chirrut became more accepting of what he could and could no longer do, and was more willing to ask for and accept the help that Baze offered.

* * *

Amyama seemed to be particularly fond of Chirrut, and had taken him under her wing. Like Baze, she seemed determined to help him navigate the world around him in the best way possible, to make sure that he did not loose his goodness and optimism despite the misfortune that had befallen him.

Baze found them in the shrine one morning as he went there to pray, sitting and facing each other in the middle of the room. Baze quietly found a space near the doorway and sat down, trying to focus his attention on the Force. It was difficult, and instead he found himself half-eavesdropping on Chirrut and Amyama's conversation.  
  
“I don't understand," Chirrut was saying.

“Most of the time, the light and the dark are balanced in harmony," Amyama responded, "There are times, however, when that balance is disrupted. When this happens, misfortune can find us. We become ill, or exploited in our work. We can face many types of misfortune when one side of the Force overpowers the other. The Force naturally wants to be in balance, and it will correct and re-balance itself. You fell victim to this imbalance, but what you have lost in your sight, the Force will accommodate by making you stronger in other areas.”

“How?”

“You can still see the columns, so they are no danger, but what about the offerings? When you sweep the floor, do you trip over them?”

“No. I can feel when the broom hits them.”

“Precisely. The broom becomes your eyes. It tells you where there are obstacles and you avoid them. The Force has taken your eyes, but it will give you other tools to navigate.”  
  
“I don't think a broom for my eyesight isn't really an even trade.” Baze couldn't help but smirk a little at Chirrut's tone.   
  
“It's not just the broom," Amyama continued, unconcerned with Chirrut's snark. "I want you to close your eyes, so that you cannot even see the shapes and colors of the columns. Now, listen. Still your mind. Do you hear the beating of your own heart?” There was a beat of silence, and then she continued. “Good. Do you hear the way my voice echos in this room? Do you hear how it bounces between the columns?”  
  
Baze had given up any pretext of praying, and was openly, but silently, watching the exchange between them.  
  
“I hear it,” Chirrut said, and he sounded surprised.  
  
“Good. Now, hold out your hand. Do you feel the weight of the air around it?” Amyama held out her own long fingers, holding them just over Chirrut's outstretched hand. He considered for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration as he felt the air around him.  
  
“It's changed,” he said.  
  
“Correct,” Amyama dropped her hand to his, just lightly enough to let him know of its presence before withdrawing. “Focus. Listen and feel. What else can you tell me?”  
  
Chirrut was quiet for a moment. “There is a draft coming from the left door,” he said, “the one that goes out to the garden. It didn't close all the way when you came in.” He paused for a long moment, his head angling slightly towards where Baze was sitting quietly. “Someone else is in the room."  
  
“Baze, will you please come over here?” Amyama waved a hand in his direction, and Baze, somewhat embarrassed at having been called out, came over. Amyama patted the ground next to her and Baze sat down.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Baze said, “I didn't mean to pry. I was going to pray -"  
  
“It's alright, my friend,” Chirrut said, opening his eyes and looking in Baze's direction. He held his hand out to Baze, a wide smile on his face. Without thinking, Baze dropped his hand into Chirrut's.  
  
“How did you know I was here?”  
  
“I could hear your breathing. It was quiet, and I wasn't sure at first, but I heard it.”  
  
Amyama looked pleased, as far as Baze could tell, under her veil. “I want you to be aware of what you feel, hear, taste and smell, Chirrut. Do it here, do it when you go outside. I want you to run your hands along the stones, to listen to the sounds of footsteps, to feel the direction of the wind. Your hands and your ears will become your eyes, because the Force will always provide, and it will always seek to restore the balance that was lost.”

* * *

Time passed quickly at the Sanctuary. After a few months, Baze persuaded Amyama to pay a traveling merchant to bring any news of Chirrut's family to them. The merchant worked the route between NiJedha and Dathka, and for a few credits was glad to smuggle letters back and forth between Chirrut and Devkyra. Baze helped Chirrut write the letters, and when the merchant brought a letter back, Baze would read it aloud to Chirrut. Most often, they found a semi-private spot in the Sanctuary's garden where the other refugees would not bother them, and sat back-to-back, Chirrut's head leaned back against Baze's shoulder, his face to the sun.

“ _M_ _y dear son_ ,” Baze read aloud, “ _I am sorry I cannot join you yet. Mr. Markal has apparently taken a liking to Elari, and has moved her into his home to be his maid. She says he does not hurt her, and that he pays her well, better than he pays those of us working in the mines. I do not know if he does this because he is genuinely fond of her, or if he does it because he is angry with me. I fought hard for him to let you return, but he would not allow it. He no longer threatens to harm your sister, but I fear he keeps her captive to keep us all in line, so that I don't run away and follow you. We must be patient._  
  
" _The Gosra's are furious that Baze ran away, and are demanding that the Malbus' pay them restitution for their loss. They claim that his mother misrepresented his qualities and took advantage of them to secure a marriage for her son. I am glad he is with you, my darling, and it sets my mind at ease to know that you are not alone, but that you always have your friend with you. Do not worry about me, Elari or Isda. Someday, we will all be together again, but until then I will take comfort in knowing you are safe. All will be as the Force wills it. Your loving mother_.”

“The Gorsa's are trying to get my parents to pay them,” Baze shook his head. “Good luck to them.”

“I wonder how Sandi is taking it,” Chirrut said. “Your running away to be with me and all. Must be hard on her.”

Baze snorted. Sandi had been almost painfully shy when he had first met her. Baze had tried to be nice and courtly, and had even bought her a few small gifts whenever he had been permitted to go into Dathka. She had always quietly accepted his conversation and gifts, but after about a year had burst into tears and confided that she didn't want to marry him. Baze had felt a great relief as he explained he didn't want to marry her either. She had warmed up to him a little after that, and in a way he had grown fond of her, the way one was fond of a younger cousin.  
  
“I think she'll get over it,” he said. He hadn't wanted to marry Sandi, but he still felt a little guilt over leaving her behind without even saying goodbye, and then using her as an excuse to leave.

Chirrut leaned back into him, as if sensing his discomfort. “I think she will.”

They sat quietly for a moment, before Chirrut swung his hand behind him and grabbed onto Baze's face, throwing the other boy completely off guard. Baze swatted his hand away.  
  
“What the kriff are you doing?”

“Amyama told me to let my hands be my eyes, since I can't see. I was wondering if you were crying over your lost love.”

“No, I'm not crying!” Baze couldn't help but laugh. “You're an absolute idiot.”

“I know.” Chirrut seemed pleased despite the insult. “I made you laugh, though.”  
  
Instead of replying, Baze tackled him to the ground.

* * *

For his birthday, and against his better judgement, Baze bought Chirrut a new carving knife set. There were four items in the set, knifes of different sizes and shapes, and a leather roll to hold them all. Baze hadn't been sure what the different types of knifes were used for, but the merchant had assured him that they would allow Chirrut to create a wider variety of items with greater detail.  
  
Chirrut fell into an uncharacteristic speechlessness as he opened the gift, running his fingers first over the hilts and then softly over the blades.  Baze watched as Chirrut studied them carefully.  
  
“I know your old knife was left behind at the mine,” Baze said. “I know it was your Dad's, but I hope these are okay.”  
  
“Okay?” Chirrut said, sounding surprised. When he looked up, Baze was surprised to see tears gleaming in the corners of Chirrut's eyes. “Baze, these are wonderful. Thank you.”  
  
He sat the kit aside and threw his arms around Baze's neck, pulling him close in a way that made Baze feel kind of funny inside. Baze lifted his arms around Chirrut, returning the embrace, just for a moment before Chirrut pulled away.

“You better not cut yourself with those,” Baze warned.

“I won't, I promise.”  
  
Baze's heart skipped a beat when Chirrut's hands framed his face. He ran his fingertips over Baze's eyes and down to the corners of his lips, and smiled.  
  
"You're happy I like your gift," he stated, and Baze realized that he had been reading the expression on his face. "You were worried I wouldn't like it. Well, I do. I think it might be the best birthday present I've ever gotten. Thank you."  
  
Chirrut pulled away and returned to examining the kit, leaving Baze feeling happy and warm.

* * *

A year passed since they had left the mines. There were good times, and there were bad times, but overall Baze felt happy and content for the first time in his life.  
  
Chirrut's eyesight had slowly gotten worse as Darrec had predicted, but he wouldn't tell Baze exactly _how_ much worse it had gotten. Chirrut had learned to move with careful deliberation, no doubt as a way to keep himself from running into things and falling, but Baze thought it had given a certain grace and surety to his movements that had not been there before. His continued visual decline was subtle, and in general he did a decent job of hiding it.  
  
Baze was constantly watchful, however, and noticed the little things. He noticed the way Chirrut hesitated before going down the stairs in the garden, his hands clinging to the rail. He noticed how at dinner time, Chirrut sometimes missed his bowl, the fork landing to the side. He noticed how when this happened, Chirrut would grab the bowl with his free hand, and that this seemed to help him orient the bowl's location in relation to himself. He noticed that Chirrut had started to bring his broom around the Sanctuary with him, when before he had always left it in the shrine. 

Not all of Chirrut's abilities were affected, however, and he had put Baze's gift to quick use. To Baze's astonishment, he hadn't accidentally cut himself even once while carving. He took his time, running his fingers over the wood, mapping the item in his mind, and making the necessary cuts with precision. Baze watched him sometimes, memorized by the deliberate and steady movement of his hands. Sometimes, he remembered the first time he had met Chirrut in the mines, and how his hands had been so steady then as well, despite his constant need to move. In retrospect, Baze figured he should have had more faith in his friend's abilities. Chirrut took great joy in being able to carve again, and carved all kinds of figurines and practical items. Once a week, Chirrut would take his creations out into the street and sell them, just as he used to dream of doing. He sent most of the money he earned this way back to his mother in their secret letters, so that she could buy her and her daughters' freedom from the mine.

* * *

Baze had always been a large child, but over his year at the Sanctuary, he became a massive one. He grew so tall that he towered over all the other children and even some of the Sanctuary's staff, and the growth left him feeling gangly and uncoordinated. Some of the other inhabitants of the Sanctuary seemed to be afraid of him,  while others gawked openly over how freakishly tall he had gotten.

Amyama had been sympathetic. She was one of the few beings at the Sanctuary who was taller than Baze was now, though as thin and bony as she was, she lacked his mass. Still, she had been kind to him, and offered him tips on how to overcome his feelings of being out of place.  
  
Baze tried not to let it bother him, and started to realize that most of the people around him weren't concerned about his height at all. Over time he noticed that some of the looks he got from the girls weren't looks of judgement and fear, but rather approval and curiosity. That made Baze feel self-conscious in an entirely different way.

In fact, girls slowly became a problem all of their own. He found that he liked looking at them, and he often found himself smiling back at them when he caught their eye. Sometimes, he thought about kissing them, or touching their skin or hair, and it made him feel kind of weird and gross.

And then there was Chirrut. Baze liked watching Chirrut. He liked watching his hands as he carved, or the strange grace with which he walked. He liked the way he was growing, getting taller and becoming lean instead of just thin. Most of all, he liked seeing Chirrut's smile - maybe too wide at times, all teeth and gums, but always genuine.  
  
Chirrut had, apparently, also started to notice the girls, and began to ask Baze to describe them to him. It filled Baze with a strange jealousy, because what business did _Chirrut_ , of all people, have asking about girls? Then Chirrut began to ask him about the _boys_ , and Baze honestly was not sure what to make of that, or if it made him feel better or worse.

And when the girls started taking an interest in Chirrut? Well, that hurt Baze more than any question Chirrut had asked him ever would.

* * *

Finally, it clicked. Baze awoke in the middle of the night sweating and terrified. Chirrut was snoring lightly on the bunk above him, his arm dangling over the side.

_I love him_ , Baze realized, staring blankly at the top of the bunk. _I love Chirrut. I'm not jealous because girls like him, I'm jealous because he likes girls._  
  
He had never known anything with such clarity as he knew this.

He wondered how long this had been going on, and how had he not known about it? He felt oddly betrayed at himself, as though his heart should have let him know that it intended to go off and fall in love with his best friend.   
  
Maybe it had told him, and he just hadn't been paying attention. He thought about the way his heart skipped whenever Chirrut hugged him, or the soft, warm feeling he was left with when it was over. He thought about the way Chirrut leaned into him when Baze read to him in the garden, or the gentle way Chirrut would sometimes hold onto him when Baze led him around the city. He thought of his own actions, of how he _knew_ that he would follow Chirrut anywhere, do anything he asked, and give him everything he wanted if he were able. He realized with dawning horror that he didn't just love Chirrut, he was completely, irrevocably, and unconditionally _in_ love with him.

In the bunk above him, Chirrut shifted in his sleep, pulling his hand back up onto his bed and continuing to snore softly. Baze lay awake for a long time, the weight of his revelation weighing heavy in his chest.

* * *

Being around Chirrut physically _hurt_. It filled Baze with a deep ache in his chest, an insatiable need to be around Chirrut and to touch him, a need that Baze didn't dare to fulfill. He had always heard such wonderful things about love, about how beautiful it was and how it completed life. Baze was absolutely miserable, and couldn't remember ever feeling quite so horrible in his entire life. How could anyone enjoy this? How could anyone _want_ this? 

He had decided to do the only logical thing and bury his feelings. He tried to remind himself how annoying Chirrut could be, or that he liked girls. Being in love with Chirrut was stupid when there were so many perfectly good girls around. He tried to talk himself into believing that Chirrut's questioning about boys was just him wondering how he himself compared. After all, Baze had done just that thing, noting how the other boys looked and making himself feel better or worse about his own body in comparison. Even if Chirrut was interested in guys, it didn't mean that Chirrut would be interested in _him._

He wouldn't risk loosing his friendship, the strongest and most important relationship that Baze had ever had in his life, over it. He _loved_ Chirrut, and decided that he would rather endure a lifetime of pining than live a life without Chirrut in it. It was that simple, Baze realized with mild awe. Besides, Chirrut needed someone to look after him, to keep him from getting into trouble or walking off cliffs. Baze had adapted to being Chirrut's guardian easily, and wasn't about to leave it to someone else just because he couldn't keep his emotions in check.

And so he suffered. He hoped that someday he would fall in love with one of the girls, that he would feel as intensely about her as he felt about Chirrut now, and things would be normal again. But if that didn't happen, Baze would become a martyr to love, suffering and longing, but never leaving. Either way, Chirrut was stuck with him.

* * *

It was on a morning a week after Baze's world-shattering revelation that his life would change again. He and Chirrut were in the shrine together, Chirrut with his broom in hand, Baze leaning against one of the columns. He was glad, for once, that Chirrut couldn't see him, and couldn't see the ridiculous, sappy-eyed look he must wear on his face constantly now.

“All I'm saying,” Chirrut said, “is that we do a trade-off. I'll teach you how to carve if you teach me how to cook.”

 “I'm _not_ going to let you near an open flame,” Baze said. “I don't think that's a good idea, at all. Besides, how would you know you're grabbing the right ingredients, in the right amounts? You can't just grope the food to make sure it's the right thing. People could get sick that way.”

“ _Grope the food_ ,” Chirrut mocked. “I do not _grope._ Besides, I would wash my hands.”

“I'm not teaching you. Besides, I don't even _want_ to learn how to carve.”

Chirrut huffed, and Baze was saved by his retort when Amyama entered the room, a Quarren male dressed in black robes and a red sash walking behind her.

“Baze, Chirrut,” she greeted. They both stood up straight. “This is Master Zaal, he is a Guardian of the Whills at the Temple. He is here to gather potential recruits for his order. Master Zaal, this is Chirrut Imwe and Baze Malbus.”

Chirrut and Baze both bowed to Master Zaal, who nodded cordially to them, his turquoise eyes regarding them curiously.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he said. “Master Idecot has told me some interesting things about you both. The blind exile who can hear the Kyber's song, and his loyal friend and protector. Tell me, Imwe, how long have you been able to hear the Kyber's song?”

“Since I was born, sir. My mother and sisters can hear it, too.”

“That is a rare ability, and I believe it can suit you and the Temple of the Kyber well. Have you ever considered joining the Guardians of the Whills?”

“Amyama – Master Idecot – has mentioned it to me before. I love visiting the Temple, and I would join except -” he cast a quick look at Baze, “ - except I don't want to leave my friends behind.”

Baze felt a lump in his throat as a wave of shame washed over him. He was selfish, he realized. He didn't want to leave Chirrut, but hadn't considered the possibility that Chirrut may have had plans that didn't involve him. Had he been holding Chirrut back, kept him from following his own ambitions for his own sake? The question left Baze uneasy. 

“You should go,” he swallowed heavily, “if you want to be a Guardian. I think it would suit you.”

Zaal was watching them attentively. “Do not mourn just yet, children,” he said, raising one of his clawed hands in what Baze guessed was meant to be a comforting gesture. “I am here to appraise you both, should you both be interested, and anyone else in this Sanctuary who may desire to join our order. You have followed your friend, Malbus, running away from a stable life to protect him, and you are willing to sacrifice your own happiness for his. Your selfless loyalty is admirable.”

Zaal stepped back to give them both a good look. “You are both healthy young men, and I see a great potential for growth and strength.”

“What about my eyes?” Chirrut asked.

“I believe the Force will guide you, and help you to succeed. You have your friend already, Master Idecot says your faith is strong, and we at the Temple will help you to channel that faith and learn your abilities and limitations."  
  
Chirrut nodded, his face focused as he considered.  
  
"I believe that you both would be wonderful additions to the Temple," Zaal continued. "Do not worry, I don't expect you to answer right now. Remember that we are not the Jedi. We don't force you to join us, and we won't force you to stay.”

Baze glanced at Chirrut, and wanted to ask Master Zaal if the Guardians had any rules about love. He swallowed the impulse.

“I must take my leave of you,” Zaal said, “there are many other people I must speak with today. Please, consider my offer. It was very nice to make your acquaintance, and I hope that we will meet again.”

He gave them a nod, and he and Amyama exited the shrine.

Chirrut came to stand next to Baze so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder, and slipped his arm through Baze's, lightly grabbing his upper arm.

“I feel like I am supposed to go,” Chirrut said. “I want you to come with me. Baze, please say you'll come with me.”

Baze didn't even need to think about his response.

“I'll come with you. Of course I will.”

The tension in Chirrut's shoulders released, and he smiled. It made Baze's heart flutter, and suddenly the pain he had felt about loving Chirrut was gone. The deep ache, the painful longing, the feeling of terror and misery, all evaporated. It didn't matter if Chirrut would ever love him back, or if the Guardians had rules against romance as the Jedi did. Chirrut wanted him to go with him, to be a part of his life, and Baze had made him smile like he had just given him the stars.

Baze could live with that.

He drew Chirrut in for a hug, and pressed his nose to Chirrut's hair. This was what the Force had given him, and Baze was grateful for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not mean for this to be so long. I did not mean for any of this to be so long. I am so, so sorry.


	7. 0 BBY - Yavin 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't be able to update next week because of real life.

He was awoken by the sound of screaming. No, not the sound, but rather the _sense_ of screaming, of terror and awe, of life being taken and ripped apart in large numbers. He had felt it on Jedha, when the Death Star had turned it's eye on the Holy City, but this was much worse, more intense. It was NiJedha multiplied by thousands.

Gathering the hem of his medical gown in one hand, Chirrut spurred himself from bed and began feeling along the wall of the room. A medic was yelling for him to return to his bed, but Chirrut paid no attention as he found the door and pushed it open.

“Chirrut!” Jyn was running towards him. She gently took his elbow with her hand.

“Did you feel that, Jyn?” he asked.

“Feel what? Why are you up? You should still be in bed.”

“No, no, something terrible has happened.” He paused, feeling the flow of the Force around them, and the massive distress within it. “The Empire has used their weapon again.”

“They used it on Scarif, just after we were rescued,” she told him. Chirrut shook his head.

“No, this is bigger. Much, much bigger. I think they've destroyed a planet.”

“Come on,” Jyn said, leading him back into the medical ward. The medic thanked her and helped Chirrut sit on his bed. Chirrut tried to wave him away. The man waved a medical scanner over him, and Chirrut decided to just ignore him. He was leaving, even if the medic decided he shouldn't.

“Jyn, would you please find some clothing for me to wear? This gown is a bit drafty, and very unfashionable.”

“Sure,” she said and left to get some clothes out of the clothing bank.

“I need to speak with Mon Mothma,” Chirrut said.

“You're mostly healed,” the medic said, “but I don't know that she will meet with you. She's very busy.”

“It's important.”

“I'm sure it is. Doesn't mean she has time for it.”

The sense of screaming stopped, possibly as the last of the planet's inhabitants had been obliterated.

“I suspect she'll find out about it soon enough,” Chirrut said.  
  
“I'm not sure what you want me to do about it,” the medic said. “I'm a medic, not a diplomat."

"Clearly."

"I can't just set up meetings with the Chancellor.”

Jyn came back at that moment and handed the clothes over to Chirrut.

“They didn't have any Guardian Robes,” she said, “but I tried to find something similar for you. I've got a shirt, a pair of pants, and a long overcoat. It's all black except the shirt, which is red. I also have a pair of boots here, I hope they are the right size.”

“Perfect,” he said, taking them. “Thank you, Jyn. Could you do me one more favor and collect my personal affects from my oh-so-charming medic?” The Medic snorted. He left with Jyn as Chirrut dressed himself. It had been years since he had worn anything other than his robes, and felt oddly naked despite being fully dressed. In spite of this, the outfit fit well, and offered a wide range of motion. Jyn had picked well.

She returned with a bag containing his personal items. He didn't have many: his mother's star bird pendant, the carving kit Baze had bought him all those years ago, his marriage cord, a small book of prayers, a small sewing kit, and 42 credits. He was pleased to find that his belt and gauntlet had survived the explosion.He put the pendant around his neck and tucked it under his shirt, again finding comfort in the weight of it against his skin. He ran his fingers over the cord then raised it to his lips, thinking of Baze as he did so, before winding it and placing it in one of the compartments on his belt, along with the rest of his belongings.

“Chirrut,” Jyn said as she led him from the medical unit. “Not everyone made it off Scarif. Baze didn't make it off Scarif.”

“He's alive,” Chirrut said confidentially. “I can feel it.”

“The Death Star showed up right as they were rescuing everybody. Most of the shuttles were able to get off-planet in time, but two of them were not. We lost contact with a third one just after.”

“Losing contact does not mean the ship was shot down,” he told her. He could feel the pity coming off of her. “You have your own losses to mourn,” he said. “Do not worry about mine.”

At that moment, an emergency alarm sounded around the base, sending men and women scrambling into a flurry of activity and action.

“Officers report to command,” the voice on the alarm said, “Officers report to command.”  
  
“I told you,” Chirrut said.

“I have to go,” Jyn said. Unlike her, Chirrut had no official title or rank: he was a blind monk who helped to steal a shuttle to embark on what was most likely to be a suicide mission. He was never supposed to get to the point where things like “security clearance” were supposed to matter. He briefly wondered if they would give him a rank for helping retrieve the plans: a medal, at least, would be nice.

“Tell me if I'm right,” he said.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” she replied and ran off.

* * *

 

A passing mechanic lead Chirrut to the canteen, where he sat alone at a table near the bar. The cook brought out a hearty stew and a strong tea – on the house, he said, for being one of the Heroes of Scarif. Chirrut smiled pleasantly at the title and thanked the cook, not realizing how hungry he had been until the stew was placed before him.

When he was done eating, he took a moment to survey his body. Although the bacta tanks had done a fantastic job of healing his organs and bringing him back from the brink of death, there were still twinges of pain. There probably would be for quite some time. He would have to evaluate himself regularly. He may not have died, but that didn't mean he got off of Scarif without any consequences.

Chirrut pulled the marriage cord from his belt and ran it through his fingers the way one would prayer beads. It was blue and gold, the traditional colors of marriage on Jedha, made of a fine but tough silk that was spun by the plateau spiders of the far wastes. He held the cord close and thought of all he had been through in the past few days.

The Force was still there, and he could still feel it, flowing around him like a river. The current wasn't as strong as it had been when he was on Scarif with his mother, when he could actually see it flowing around and through him and all other things. It was stronger than it had been before, though. Before death, he experienced the Force mostly through the Kyber, not directly. There were times he had been able to sense it – sometimes during quiet meditations, and he had always been certain that it had guided him during a fight. Sensing and feeling were two different things – for Chirrut, it was like remembering colors and actually seeing them.

His thoughts turned to Baze. He couldn't explain how he knew that Baze was still out there, he just knew that he was. There were a lot of things that Chirrut was unsure about, and which the Force around him seemed to offer no answer. He did not know what would happen in this war between the Empire and the Rebels, and it seemed like the Rebels had just been dealt a great and tragic blow. He did not know what further role he would play in the conflict, if any.

Instead, Chirrut knew four things without any doubt or questioning: he knew the Force was one with him, and that it always would be. He knew that he and Baze loved each other, and they always would. He knew Baze was still alive, and would be looking for him. Finally, he knew that the Force would guide Baze to him again.

_I will find you, my love._ He cast this thought into the Force, and hoped that Baze would hear it. Unfortunately for the both of them, Baze had always been about as sensitive to the Force as a tea kettle, even before he had lost his faith. Chirrut wasn't bothered by it, though: he would find Baze one way or another.

* * *

 

Chirrut had been in the canteen for around two hours before Jyn found him. The cook had offered him a cake and more tea, which Chirrut was happy to accept. The canteen was warm and comfortable, the cook friendly and pleasant, and Chirrut had no problem passing the time there while waiting for news.

“You were right,” she said as she sat next to him. “They used the weapon – they're calling it the Death Star, can you _believe_ that – to destroy an entire planet.”

“Which one?”

“Alderaan.” She sounded angry and sad, and then grabbed Chirrut by the arm and pulled him to his feet. “I need some fresh air.”

She lead him quickly but assuredly through the Great Temple and out into the courtyard of the ancient temple complex. She was angry, but careful not to let him trip or fall, always minding the firmness of her grip.

“Do you know how many people were on Alderaan?” She said. “Two billion. They're all _dead_. Did we even make a difference? We all almost _died_ on Scarif, Chirrut. And for what? What did it get us?”

“I died, Jyn,” he said. She stopped her pacing as Chirrut found a large log to sit on. “I was dead, and I was okay with it. I saw the Force, I knew I had played my role, and I was ready to go.”

“So was I,” she said. “Cassian and I – we sat together on the beach and watched the Weapon. It's not the same, though, is it? We all knew there was a chance we wouldn't be coming back. We went anyway. Alderaan – Alderaan didn't have a choice. They weren't _soldiers_.”

“Neither were most of the people in the Holy City. There were the Partisans, of course, but most of them were pilgrims, merchants, miners...” he trailed off for a moment, the ache of the loss of his home weighing heavy. NiJedha had not been the first home he had lost, or even the first one to have a significant body count, but that didn't mean that it did not hurt. “I had known some of those people for more than 30 years. I fight to honor them, I went to Scarif to honor them.”

“We lost the plans,” she said. “We were able to transmit them to Leia Organa, but the Empire captured her. We don't have the plans. A lot of the Rebel leaders here don't think the Empire has them. Organa is the senator for Alderaan, they may have chosen to destroy Alderaan to get her to hand them over.”

Chirrut could feel the distress coming off of Jyn in waves, a strong current of guilt building beneath the surface.

“The blood of Alderaan isn't on our hands,” he said.  
  
“I know it isn't,” she said. “But I can't help feeling like it is. I know it's stupid. I know there is still hope, and that if we can recover the plans, we can stop other planets from being destroyed like this. But I can't help but think _what if_? What if we had been quicker to find the files? What if we had planned it better? What if the Empire _does_ find the plans, and it was all pointless? What if we accidentally delivered the plans right into their hands?”

“Those are all things beyond our control,” he said gently. “It doesn't do to dwell on them. I am not familiar with Senator Organa, but from what I have heard, it sounds like she is smart and strong-willed. It sounds like she hid the plans well.”  
  
“What if she gave them up? They destroyed her _home_.”

“They destroyed my home as well. They destroyed your home, and your family. Would you give up the plans to save them?”  
  
“Part of me thinks that I would, if I could go back to the very beginning and stop it all from happening." She sighed, defeated. "But I can't. My parents both sacrificed themselves for the Rebellion. They made that choice. I don't know if I would have been able to make that choice for them. Cassian doesn't seem to have that problem. I don't know if I envy him or hate him for it.”  
  
“You need to have faith, Jyn, not just in the Force, but in the Force of Others. None of us are fighting this war alone. The Force of Others does what we cannot.”  
  
“It's in others we find hope,” she said after a long moment. She sounded bitter, tired, and sad. "As long as there is hope, we will fight."  


* * *

 

At Chirrut's request, Jyn led him into the forests surrounding the Temples, to help him find wood for a new staff. She guided him carefully, telling him when there were obstructions, and scanning the surrounding areas for branches that might meet his specifications.   
  
“You remind me of Baze, in a way,” he told her.  
  
“How so?” She asked. “I don't think we're anything alike.”

“You both frighten people -”

“Thanks.”

“- but it's not who you are. You're tough, you're strong, you can be stubborn. But you're kind-hearted, and you take the pains of the galaxy as your own. You're softer than people think you are.”  
  
“I am _ not _ soft.”

“It's not a bad thing, to be soft. It's quite a good thing, actually.”

“I'm not sure if you're trying to compliment me or insult me. Thank you, I guess?”

“You're welcome.”

“What about this one?” Jyn held a branch out to him. It didn't feel quite right in his hands.  
  
“It's a good length, but the wood isn't solid enough.”

“Why use wood? I'm sure a steel staff can do more damage than a wooden one.”

“The balance is off in metal staffs, in my experience.”

“If you say so,” she said, and continued looking. “What is the deal with you and Baze, anyway? I know it's not my business, but I'm curious.”

“Another similarity: if you're curious, tact goes out the window.” He laughed a little. “I don't mind you asking. Well, we were both Guardians of the Whills. We guarded the Temple of the Kyber.”

“Is that all?” She sounded surprised. “Co-workers?”

“Of course not. I knew him since childhood. He was my closest and dearest friend.”

“I see.” 

“I guess it's fair to say he was my caretaker. Not that I really needed one, but he insisted on it. Some things can be difficult when you're blind, like reading a letter, cooking, or not tripping over misplaced shoes. The shoes were usually Baze's, of course. I always knew were mine were, but he _never_ put his in the same place. I think he did it on purpose, to laugh when I tripped over them.”  
  
“That's horrible,” Jyn said dryly. 

“Isn't it?”  
  
“Here, how is this one?”

He took the offered branch and smiled. “Perfect,” he said, giving it a few experimental twirls in his hands. “The balance is good, it's sturdy, and thick enough I can sand it down without loosing a lot of mass...yes, it's perfect. Thank you, Jyn.”

“My pleasure.”

“Baze is many things to me,” he continued as they turned back towards the Temple. “He is my friend, my protector, and also my husband. I suspect that last one is what you really wanted to know?”  
  
“It is,” she admitted

“I've been in love with him since I was twelve,” he said. “We haven't been married _that_ long, of course.”  
  
“That's impressive. I didn't even think I was in love with someone until I was fifteen. And even then, it turns out that I wasn't actually in love, I just liked his abs.”  
  
Chirrut laughed. “It took me about that long to realize what it was,” he said. “I kept dropping hints, and eventually he got it. We've been each other's ever since.”

“That's sweet.”

“And what about you and our brave Capitain Andor?” he asked.

“Cassian? He's an _ass.”_ She sighed, and after a moment continued. “I couldn't have made it on Scarif without him. Having him with me, when I thought I was going to die...it was comforting. He's an ass, but I'm glad I know him."

“The Force of Others," Chirrut said. She laughed quietly.  
  
"I suppose so," she said.  
  
"I have a question," he said after a moment, "which you may consider troubling. I don't expect you to answer it."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"What did the weapon, this Death Star, look like?" His spirit had snapped back to his body before the Death Star had arrived. He had seen the clear blue of the sky and the lights of the battle above, but not the great weapon which had destroyed his home.

Jyn thought for a moment before speaking. “It's...massive. It's round and dark grey, and it's got a deep trench along it's equator. The laser comes out of a big, round crater above the trench. It's terrifying. It wasn't there, and then all of the sudden, it was. Your mind wants to think it is a moon, but you know it's _not._ No moon in the galaxy looks like _that_.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts, and when she spoke again there was wonder in her voice. “It's terrifying, and horrible, but on the beach, it was beautiful, too. I can't describe it. It wasn't like on Jedha, where I was running for my _life_. I was...I was content. I was happy.” She sighed and there was sadness in her voice. “I doubt the people of Alderaan felt that when they saw it.”

They walked in silence for a while, Chirrut's staff clacking on the ground in front of him as he walked.

“I'm not afraid, anymore,” Jyn said. “I don't think I can ever be afraid of anything ever again.”

“Why should you be?” Chirrut said. “You looked death in the eye and found it beautiful.”

He told her of his own experience: of waking up dead on the beach, and seeing the Force flowing around him. He told her of speaking with his mother, of choosing to come back for Baze.

Jyn had fallen silent as he talked, and after a while she put her hand on his arm, halting him in his tracks. “Wait, just a moment,” she said. Chirrut realized she was crying, and that she was trying desperately to hide it from him. She may not be afraid, but that didn't mean she was unaffected, and none of them had been given proper time to grieve their losses.  
  
“Jyn,” he said softly, “there is no shame in being soft. Let yourself grieve.”

At his words, she was unable to hide her sadness, and her tears flowed freely. It was as though they had been waiting permission to fall. Jyn sat on the ground, her back against a nearby tree, and Chirrut followed her lead. He held his hand out too her, and she took it, her grasp tight and painful as she wept – wept for her father, for her mother, for Jedha, for those who didn't make it off Scarif, for Alderaan. He sat quietly beside her as she wept, not complaining at the tightness of her grip, hoping to just be a comfort to her.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and her breathing began to steady.

“I'm okay,” she said, and got to her feet. “Thank you.”

Chirrut smiled kindly at her.  
  
“Don't tell anyone about that,” she said. “ _Especially_ not Cassian.”

“Consider me mute as well as blind,” he said.

“You're horrible,” she said with a small laugh.

* * *

He spent his evening sitting outside the Temple, sanding down and sculpting the branch Jyn had found for him into a usable fighting staff. He prayed as he did so – for Baze, for Jyn, for Senator Organa, and for the galaxy itself. He thought of his mother, long lost to him now, but never far away. He felt the cool night air on his skin and breathed deeply as the sounds of night birds filled his ears.

He could feel change in the air, and it gave him hope. The Force of Others, he felt, was on its way.

 


End file.
